Poem. The Game. Lostsoulx.

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They tell you that drugs will kill you, they say that if you take them, you will surely come to harm
But they don’t tell you the drugs that they prescribe can cause all sorts of havoc, rather than just making you calm
They try to steer us, they try to control us, by encouraging us to take this, and warning us away from that
But as I’ve grown older I’ve become very good at knowing when I can smell a rat
And this is a big rat, one that’s rotten to the core
And once I became aware of this rat, I thought ‘No, you are not going to brainwash me anymore’
There are so many ways you can open your eyes, there are many clues
But you will not find them by watching the BBC 6 o’clock news
You will not find them in your daily newspaper, they are the masters of deceit
Each page is carefully edited and the news inside is specifically chosen for the many eyes it will meet
There are murders, rapes and riots in countless areas of the world and if you find your own news sources, you will see it’s true
Yet the mainstream media will only publish what has been especially selected for you
And they will only inform you of the things they think you should know in order to keep you quiet, in order to keep you tame
It’s amazing the lengths that will be taken just so they can keep playing their game
A game that involves sick individuals getting more and more sick
And they don’t realize they have been blindly led into a cruel and callous trick
The dominators of this game have no qualms with retaining vital search data that would lead to life saving medication
What’s more is the source of this medication is one of the earths natural creations
The medicine, from a plant, is so natural and so pure
Yet the big bosses of the world poison our minds against it and convince us to run from the cure
Oh we rush and we run like sheep to throw money at organizations that never even show evidence of progress that they are making
And we give and give to causes that will relentlessly give on taking
While all the while an aid and cure to so many illnesses is encouraged to be ignored
And actually the totally mad thing is that evidence to support it is just lying at your door
There are the voices and videos of passionate people
Who have experienced all of what I’m saying
All it takes is a Google search to discover the game that you are obliviously playing
And they rely on you to remain blind, they need you to stay quiet
If you really want to know about the game and its horror
The information is as clear as day, so that you can simply no longer deny it
And it will be impossible for you to stay silent
The truth that you find may even make you crazy-mad
Perhaps even violent
And so you must accept the facts, and take note of all the clues
Your voice is needed to ensure that we obliterate this game
And see that the big bosses lose.

Taken from the author with permission. Find her on Tumblr here.

Old schoolwork with teachers comments.

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I have no idea how old this might be but hazarding a guess towards 8 or 7 years. That doesn’t seem like a long time,  to me it doesn’t, but for my writing it certainly seems to,  it’s come a long way! I have gotten so much more practised. I cannot believe how much this takes me down memory lane. I also cannot believe that I have kept this.

Poem. If Words Are All We Have. Katie Lewington.

he was like a middle aged Jack Kerouac in his pictures and she was wet thinking of his exploits,  breath took
she wasn’t sure what to do,  that wouldn’t be crude
and, after all, it wasn’t his image
no, it was his words that wet her lips, readied her for adventure
oh hell,  she flung aside the book, half undressed
and swooned

K.L 2016  ©

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Short Story. Nirvana. Katie Lewington.

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An arm rolls from out of the bed. The bed which has no sheets, a torn pillow and a chocolate stained duvet covering entirely the body underneath it. The hand on the arm inched forward to pat the alarm clock that had been put to rest and retirement some months ago.
The hand also, while habitually patting the alarm clock, upset the ashtray and the contents of that small ceramic bowl (Fag butts, yes, but hairbands, hairclips and what was left of a lipstick too) went all over, not the floor for that was covered in bras and skirts, and it was these items of clothing which received the debris of this accident. Softly it fell, a tear onto tissue.
The hand felt the fall, but dismissed it. The body snorted, rolling to face the wall. Eyes opening but then closing, very quickly. Light was entering through the curtains and that was what the body wished to avoid.
‘Mother’ A voice yelled from downstairs, ‘Are you going to get up some time today?’ The hand flicked a finger in the air to the voice. The duvet was slowly pulled down from the face that contained clear pale blue eyes and a thin mouth. A mouth that was smiling. The hand crept underneath the duvet, feeling breasts and rubbing a soft belly, sliding further and the eyes looked up towards the ceiling.
‘Mother!’ Came the voice again. As abrupt and unwanted as a church bell, ‘Oh, fuck off’ The mouth was a frown as it cursed this and legs were swung to hit the floor and what could be felt of the sparse carpet. The body was carried by these legs through the room and to the door, with the hand reaching for the door knob. On twisting and opening it came a giant dog, barking and treading. The mouth uttered a sigh. Today she could not be bothered, in fact most days, she could not be bothered to chase that flaming dog from her bedroom. He would take the place in her bed.
She stood, now, in the kitchen ‘What do you want?’ The mouth asked the rude woman that had been calling.
‘I want you to get up’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yes!’
‘But I did not want to get up’
‘You have to get up somewhen. You can’t stay in bed all day’
‘And why not’
‘Things need doing around this house’
‘I am not doing them. Why else do you think me and David are living apart?’
‘He was cheating on you’
‘Exactly, it was because I was tired of being his maid’
‘He had been having an affair’
‘I know now he has a girlfriend but it won’t last and he will want me back home with him, which is fine. I might go back to him’
‘In the meantime whilst you are living under my roof I wouldn’t mind some help’
‘I can’t do it. I am seeing a friend later’
‘Someone special?’ The voice pointedly asked.
‘No, he isn’t’ was the answer snapped back in return.
The mouth was bunched up, hair in knots and with her hands she reached for a bowl. The cupboard door was slammed open and shut to retrieve the cereal and the milk.
She sat with her cereal in the front room. She leapt onto the sofa so the milk jumped out onto her lap. She used her hands to eat and to text David, Morning
He would not reply anytime soon. At lunchtime he would call while he was working but he would not text back. She threw the phone onto the coffee table. The slight object skimmed until it brushed the pages of the TV times and buried itself underneath them. She balanced the remote control in her hand, snapping the batteries in and out of it, until she lost a battery and it went far away, not even her feet could reach it and she wouldn’t move, even though she was getting pins and needles the way she was sitting.
Gordon, the voice’s husband, came in and wrinkling his nose said, ‘Sitting there with your tits in front of you, get up’ 
He slapped her knees with his newspaper.
‘I am proud of my boob job’ she responded.
‘It’s the volume of them’ Gordon explained
‘You wasn’t complaining when you were sucking them, pervert’ She stuck her tongue out at him.
‘Keep your voice down’ Gordon shushed her.
She called the voice, ‘Your husband is threatening me and he’s hitting me, call the police’
‘You’ve never liked him’ The voice said.
‘Who would, he’s a fucking pig’ She said as Gordon landed a huge kiss on her nose, putting his hands on her thighs and she reeled him in, putting her arms around his neck and her lips on his.
‘There’s no need for language like that’ The voice scolded her.
‘Oh fuck off’ She flicked up her middle finger, pushing away Gordon. Suddenly: bored.
‘Your wife is tiresome’ she told him.
‘She’s your daughter. Besides I love her’
‘Nagging bitch’              
‘Yes’ he agreed. ‘Could not argue with that’
‘You could have married anybody’
‘I wouldn’t have met you if I hadn’t married Mrs. Stroppy in there’
‘No but there are plenty of fish in the sea’
‘They say there is but what with all the chemical waste we project into our seas we are killing a lot of them’

K.L 2016  (C)

Poem. The Other Woman. Katie Lewington.

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God help the other woman
who has to follow his movements through Facebook
meeting his family through poorly punctuated updates
tagged tweets and pinned meals out at a restaurant for a birthday
that, surprise surprise, she was not privy to, his gift still lays unopened
the other woman is a child, must not be seen, must not be heard
fills her cunt with toys and heart with doubts

She’s stressed,  burnt out
like the wife he meant to leave
discards her, discarded them all
once they begun to question

why won’t you leave her for me?

K.L 2016  ©

Short Story. Smarts Don’t Guarantee. Katie Lewington.

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Sat in        front of an English exam
I can actually not do this

I pass         the hall
where blazered children flock
I am taking a mock English exam in a private room          the matrons office

Alone           watching the clock
             that is propped against the wall, on the desk

A teaching assistant sits like a jailor

                 marking my time          and making sure that I don’t cheat

I feel dull
            handed over my phone and razors
which lighten my blazer
        I shrug it further over my shoulders
shift the gym bench closer to the table                          attempt to concentrate

I cannot fail.

Book Review. Where Everything and Nothing Makes Sense. M.M.Walker.

Bring me back to summer

Bring me back to summer.
Sand grinding in-between my toes,
water dashing over my feet.
Sunshine glare shares the waves
of windy heat that grazes my body.
Seeing the hazy mirage
In the distance where
there’s always an ocean
but never a beach.
Even a burn on the skin
brings nary a frown or scoff ,
but a smile towards the sun;
Such a friendly foe it is.
Swift dreams pass as
lofty clouds in a lofty day,
bearing peace as rays
painted across the sky.
I slowly shut my eyes,
soaking in the dream,
only to wake in the rain.

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Excerpt

Bring me back to summer



Bring me back to summer.

Sand grinding in-between my toes,

water dashing over my feet.

Sunshine glare shares the waves

of windy heat that grazes my body.

Seeing the hazy mirage

In the distance where

there’s always an ocean

but never a beach.

Even a burn on the skin

brings nary a frown or scoff,

but a smile towards the sun;

Such a friendly foe it is.

Swift dreams pass as

lofty clouds in a lofty day,

bearing peace as rays

painted across the sky.

I slowly shut my eyes,

soaking in the dream,

only to wake in the rain.

Review

Where Everything and Nothing Makes Sense is a delicious collection of formal poems with a variety of subjects penned and they seem fresh off the page.
Forever is a poem that took my breath away at its well executed evocation of love.
There are different styles of poem and one, Anxiety Part IV, is prose that reads like a story between a battle but is actually a metaphor. Poem Agoraphobia also covers the subject of anxiety and I think possibly evokes more fear into me than the first, as well depicted as it is. What a Dream is a fantastic poem that uses a train metaphor for intrusive thoughts and is so stark, you have  to admire the writer and want to shake his hand.
I feel that this did exhaust itself by the end, or at least it exhausted me! I think it is going to be a required taste and is not to be read in a single sitting. Definitely a book to add to your bookshelf. M.M Walker has potential.
Overall a fine collection of poetry, with utter readability and something you’re going to want to read over.

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